Aniratha
by Sabine Hawks
Summary: Eomer is now the King of Rohan but before he can rule his people effectively he will have to suffer for a decision he made a year earlier. Can he be true to his heart without disappointing his people? Appearances by Faramir, Eowyn and OCs!
1. Default Chapter

  
  
Title: Aniratha [Elvish for 'I will Desire']   
Author: Sabine Hawks   
Feedback: Please, I would absolutely love reviews, etc...!   
Disclaimer: Some of these characters belong to Tolkien, I am not profitting from their use or claiming they are mine--they're merely...guest starring. The original characters (Narcirya, Linelei, etc) are my own. Please do not reprint this story without my permission. :)   
Synopsis: This story takes place post-ROTK and deals with a period of time between Eomer's arrival back in Edoras, when he first arrives there and the years after. It's a theoretical story about what might have happened on his journey back and the time in between then and his betrothal. Tolkien canon is going to be observed as much as possible, I promise! lol. In this chapter, we see a flashback to what happened on his journey back to Edoras on a stop in Lorien. All will be explained. :)   
  
  


The desire was washing over him again and again, relentless spasms that his brain sent throughout his body. I am not a wreckless man, I am not a wreckless man, I am not-- But he knew the lie would only comfort him for so long. Watching was worse than acting upon his needs, it made him feel guilty and petty, fueling a portion of his heart that he had tried to stamp out for days. Then, her voice would carry from another room and the desire would return again, hard and violent enough to render his sensibilites useless. 

Looking at her in the pale light, wondering if she could sense him there, knowing her Elven senses must be keen enough to comprehend his presence. Yet she made no move to cover herself, she walked about the talan, nearly empty except for a bed and a small table, busying herself with worthless action. He could feel his own breathing deepen, passing beyond the initial stage of fear and doubt. He would stay, he would watch her, he would go through with this idiotic plan to the end... 

And then what? More emptiness when he saw her the next day? More dreams filled with the flowery teasing of her scent or the feather light touch of her fingers? She was not for him, would never be for him, but that fact was not acceptable. He buried all reason beneath heavy layers of greed and want. If he needed her to survive then his behavior could be overlooked, or so he hoped. 

In truth, he had no one to justify this to but himself. His sister would never know, his companions--too involved in the crisis at hand to care. Fingers gripped the woody ring that peered into her room, just one eye of his allowed the privelege of seeing her. The sheet she held around her body billowed around her long, muscular legs, fluffy as a woven cloud. Her hand, the hand that had rested on his arm when he made a jest or moved to suddenly, graceful and clean, clasped the fabric around her body. So near, he thought, so close to her and yet tracks of history and tradition spread them apart. 

If he had thought her beauty too much to bare when she was clothed, it utterly crushed him when she let the sheet fall in preparation to dress. His exhalation of breath was quick and disbelieving, his eyes widening with the hope of taking every centimeter of her in. There was no shame visible on her countenance, only the quiet smile of someone who is relaxed...content... 

She began to hum softly to herself, then more loudly as she added words. Her fingers smoothed away the wrinkles on the gown laid before her, sensitive pads gliding over the smokey grey velvet. He watched the subtle changes in her physique as she bent to touch the fabric; the fawn-like youth of her body was evident in the way her skin slid easily over muscle. And yet, he thought to himself, her youth was deceptive, nearly as false as he. 

His heart clenched at the sadness he saw in her eyes as they turned toward the window--toward him. For a moment, their gazes fused and he felt the entire weight of the universe outside his world, their world, overwhelm him. No air would enter his lungs, no artery would pump blood, every thought focused on the emotion she had captured him with. It destroyed him, the regret that he found mirrored in her eyes. She knew. 

She knew. 

Briefly, he forgot the nature of this moment, neglecting the warning signs flickering in his brain. Her lips parted and her eyelids closed slowly, reluctantly when she blinked. Slowly, her feet carried her to the window where she could see his crouched form shaking intensely--with fear, with embarrassment, she was not sure. The space between them, though closing, felt thick with their shared misgiving. Wading closer, she felt her breathing hitch with the first signs of sobs. 

"Eomer," his eyes closed at the sound of her voice, never had his name seemed so much like melody. The velvety touch of her fingertips on his eyelids was not startling, only oddly familiar. Familiar only because of dreams, because he had envisioned that very touch daily, nightly... 

"Why do you crouch in the shadows?" 

"Because...we cannot--I cannot really be with you." 

Her fingers fell down his temple to his chin like rain drops, and a gasping sigh rushed from between his lips. The smell of her skin, of sage and fading sunlight, entreated his rough, calloused hand to touch her waist gently. He felt the spark behind that contact, the jolt that ran throughout his arm and punctured his heart. It was painful, more painful than the prick of steel. 

"I have all the years of my life to be with you," she replied in her lilting voice, "to really be with you." 

"No," Eomer returned, though his fingers splayed on her hip, carefully touching more of the white skin. His eyes parted time between her eyes and the union of their flesh as if not really comprehending the sensation. "I will not give in to my need for you, it corrupts and bleeds me." 

"There is no shame in admitting your fear to me," she murmured. Her hand tangled in the blonde waves falling down his back. Eomer shut his eyes again, closing off all of the exquisite beauty that blotted out the duty he had to his people. What would it look like to them, another human king taking an Elf for a wife? 

"But I will die, it is not fair to leave you here alone..." 

"I shall have memory, and that is vivid indeed." 

There was a pause as his eyelids fluttered and he was bathed in her golden light once more. His lips, burning from appetite, pressed to her chin, ghosting the tempting valley between there and her mouth. She tasted of happiness, and the joy he had known travelling with her to Lorien. The golden mallorn lived within her lips and he was emersed in the sweet waters of her birth land as their tongues grazed. His hands, dark and scarred, the foil to her swan white back, climbed carefully up her spine until his desire swept higher and crashed down harder. No longer could he be satisfied with such fundamental touch. His arms tightened around her, one hand grasping her shoulder blade, the other the opposite hip. 

Silken arms encircled his neck, pressing his lips to hers with an urgency he had never known. Never had she been tickled by a man's beard, never had she known the absolute abandon of the human to his emotions. His fervor only solidified her decision to give herself over utterly, to forget every warning, every custom, every tradition... 

Eomer was the one to break the kiss, pulling his lips from hers with a quiet smack. For a moment he merely felt the weight of her in his grasp, the sweet pressure of her body against his and he wondered if this would be the only time he would have the pleasure. She seemed to be doing the same, resting her forehead against his as she caught her breath. 

"Narcirya," he whispered. 

She kissed his lips delicately once. His hand moved to cradle her head against his own, sharing the breath that rushed from between her lips. The other hand moved from her hip to the small of her back, brushing over the satiny slope idly. The Elf shivered against him before finding warmth in the embrace that he wrapped her in. 

"You were right," she told him sadly. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I could never be without this, I would sooner die..." 

"You will be strong." 

"No--" 

"I shall leave tomorrow morning and ride before you can regret our parting." 

"And you, you also will be strong?" 

"I shall hide behind my duty, and you behind tradition." 

"And still I will love you..." 

He kissed her, "And I will regret." 


	2. The King of Rohan

  
Title: Aniratha   
Author: Sabine Hawks   
Feedback: PLEASE!   
Disclaimer: See chapter 1's   
Synopsis: This is chapter 2, in which we see Eomer speaking to Faramir once back in Edoras and a year has passed since his time with his Elven love.  


  
Losto mae, meldir nin   
Laston bain fileg   
Maethor nin   
An uir ned elenath   
Caun en guren nin 

  
"Singing, my Lord?" 

Eomer stirred at the sound of his friend's voice, looking way from the window. Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor, stood in his chambers inspecting him carefully. Faramir's steps toward him were tentative. 

"You never sing." 

"I suppose not," Eomer replied, he hadn't really thought about it. Had he been singing? He couldn't tell anymore, it was becoming harder and harder to separate the voice that spoke to him in his head and the sound of his own instrument. The voice in his head was nothing like his own, but it certainly felt real. Faramir's cool eyes regarded him carefully, "My lord?" 

Eomer, a king now, with the responsibilites of a king, turned his gaze back to the window, watching his subjects below going about their daily activities. Everything here seemed foreign. It was his home, the life he had to lead, the life he wanted to lead, but there was no comfort left in it. No, he never sang. 

"Who was she?" 

That question bought Eomer's attention and he turned his head toward the man that had married his sister. Had it really been a year since all of that had transpired? Was Gondor another year older along with its King and Queen? How quickly youth slipped away... 

"Who was who, Lord Faramir?" his own voice sounded far off. 

"You forget, friend, that I too have been--and still am--in love." 

"What prompted this question?" 

"My lord, you never sing." 

Faramir looked younger, Eomer thought, his face held the vigor of someone just beginning in the world--who had sought and found their place among things. Eomer felt as the outsider did, the stranger looking in on a reality he supposedly owned. He shivered despite the warmth of the spring day. 

"She..." Eomer felt odd explaining this to someone, "she was an Elf." Countless times he had explained the situation to himself, trying desperately to understand exactly why he had left that day and never looked back, or at least, tried not to look back. Every day seemed like one struggle against glancing over his shoulder. 

"An Elf, from Lorien," he continued, looking down at his lap, "she was the most beautiful creature I have ever known." His legs were bent against the window frame, the stones digging into his shins. He was bare foot, the way he liked to be when he was away from his duties. Away from his life. 

Faramir nodded, pulling a chair next to the window where his friend, his brother in marriage, sat curled as a lost little boy. He wondered how long it had been since Eomer had considered his life without the loss of this woman. He wondered if Eowyn knew. 

"When did you know that you loved her?" 

Eomer's laughter was soft and low in his throat, unobtrusive as his sad hazel eyes scanned the ground below. "We stayed in Lorien for weeks, my men were starving and exhausted and they needed time to rest. She had been out scouting with a party of archers and invited us to stay in Caras Galadhon. I remember how scared we were at first, frightened that the White Witch would curse us all and take our lives. But the Lady Galadriel was gone, along with most of the Galadhrim, gone to the Gray Havens. Those that remained looked after us with great care and invited us to attend court and various ceremonies," his reflection was full of fondness and small, half-chuckles. Faramir dared not interrupt. "The second week of our respite there, I was walking down the Golden Road, through the trees, and I heard laughter below. That same Elf was there teaching the youngest men in our group how to dance. I don't think her face was without a smile the entire time, she was so patient with them, so kind..." he paused, "and..." 

"And what, my Lord?" Faramir interjected quietly. 

"And I was jealous. Jealous that she would spend time with them and not me--but my pride, my pride would not allow me to join them. So I watched, for hours I watched them, all the time wishing I could be as carefree, abandoned to life and to happiness." Eomer's breath shuddered with emotion, "I think I must have followed her at a distance for the next few days, and when she finally approached me, I knew." His fingers combed through his beard, his eyes straight ahead on the stones of the window. 

"You knew what?" 

"I knew that I loved her. I had never lost my control in such a way. There was nothing I could do, no remedy for her domination over my thoughts. We spoke very little when we were together, but I think I can remember every word that ever left her lips. And that song," he cleared his throat, "that song was echoing in the trees the day I left her." He paused and then continued with deliberate, false confidence, "We decided never to see each other again, that any sort of...of union would be impossible." 

"Do you regret your feelings, do you regret her?" 

"No, no I could never." 

"But do you regret leaving her?" 

"Every day," Eomer replied hurriedly, shutting his eyes, "every second of every minute that passes as an eternity without a sunrise. My dreams are filled with her face, her voice, her scent--but every muscle in my body wills me to leave it at that. At dreams." 

Faramir rose, recognizing the glaze that covered his friend's eyes. He would not force him to cry in his company. Bowing shortly, the Steward left, shutting the door at the first choked sob. As he put distance between himself and the King's chambers, he knew this could not come to a good end. Eowyn's bitterness toward the Elven people did not stop at Arwen, though that was the source. Any knowledge of this woman's dominion over her brother's heart would surely enrage her temper. And Faramir tried desperately to keep her raging fire locked securely away. This developement would keep Eomer from marrying and Rohan without a queen, Eowyn's impatience would grow and Faramir would eventually have to tell her. Eventually. 


	3. Forgotten Woods

  
  
Synopsis: (a brief) Chapter Three -- IN which: We get a glimpse of life back in Lorien and the decision making process of two determined Elves...   
  
Author: Sabine Hawks   
  
Disclaimer: Same as chapter 1's   
  
Feedback: PLEASE! PLEASE PLEASE!   
  
  
  


_ Aniratha   
Linnathon a sovriel   
Bengin nin guren a   
Penna firiel   
Alagos luutha_

Alagos luutha. The storm of wind will come to pass.

Yes, it will, but when? 

Narcirya felt the brush of the arrow's feathers against her cheek as she pulled the dart back. Her eyes narrowed and honed in on the target's circles. Without much thought or concentration, she let the string go and watched as the metal point dug itself into the center of the round grid. She nocked another arrow, the familiar caress of the feathers just another part of the never-ending pattern that had become her life. 

And what would happen when her patience for the monotony wore out? Already her ability to abide the ceaseless ring of activities was stretching thin. Every action was simply a way to ease the suffering that slowly drove her mad. Her closest friend and confidant sat nearby, singing softly to her still, and the words cut into her subconscience. Narcirya's fingertips felt raw, her hands numb with gripping wood and fletch--her mind exhausted from grasping for reality. She flexed her hand, feeling the strain of leather from the archery glove protecting her palm. Her eyes traveled slowly to her companion, content to stretch upon a rock and embroider a belt. Narcirya turned away quickly, her eyes filling with tears. The thought that someone could be happy with such a simple thing--that she alone had to weather the battle within her body--was too much to willingly watch. 

"Why don't you go to him?" 

"_Man_?" her voice curled protectively. 

"The human, why don't you go to him?" Linelei watched her friend with keen eyes, knowing this topic was an untouchable one... 

"You make it sound so simple," Narcirya replied softly. 

"It is. Leave this place and do what it is you have been desiring for so long. There is no reason to prolong your torment, this will not stop until one of you dies with grief!" As ridiculous as it sounded, Linelei's point was valid. Narcirya had heard of countless Elves who had wasted away in despair, their souls departing from melancholy and not some earthly malidy. Could that afflict her? Were her emotions controlling her that completely? She felt a constricting fear grip her throat. 

"We promised never to see each other, we decided it was worse to indulge our hopeless desires than to bear the agony of separation," and the extent of that pain was audible in her voice. It shook with implication, betraying the tenderness that still infested her heart. Would she be less of a woman for giving-in? Was this the force of something greater than herself or was it merely her weakness for his embrace... 

"There is no shame in admitting your error," Linelei murmured. 

Narcirya stopped her restless pacing at those words. "There is no shame in admitting your fear to me." Her hand had touched the sunshine dripping from his head and for a moment she was consumed with that memory, stored away in the treasury of her brain. Eomer's presence was strong there, in fact she rarely pulled anything from the past that wasn't related to her time with him... 

"Confound your sense to Mordor," Narcirya hissed angrily. 

Linelei rose, her needlework abandoned for the moment. Her long arms slipped around her friend's waist easily, holding the shaking woman with the grace of a seasoned expert. This was not the first or last time Narcirya would crumble. No immortal should be without at least one love, she thought, and denying this one simply because Eomer was human...it was madness. 

"I will go with you," Linelei added softly, encouraging her friend to cower against her shoulder, "We will go together to Rohan and meet this King, and he will love you as he did seasons ago and with the passion of a lover withdrawn." 

It was comforting for Narcirya to hear her words, to be goaded by her friend's wisdom. Tangled in Linelei's bravery, arms and hair, she consented. 


	4. Of Elves and Men

  
  
Chapter 4, IN which: More of the story unravels and the Elves arrive in Edoras.   
  
Author: Sabine Hawks   
  
Disclaimer: One again, same as Chapter One. Don't own some of 'em but please don't reproduce!   
  
Feedback: Yes please, it's a great encouragement!   
  


Dead, dead and rotting. Eowyn inspected the horse carcasses with growing dread. This was not going to be a pleasant summer. The grasses were yellowing from a weak rainy season and nothing had been done. Peasants were losing precious livestock to the elements and no aid was being given. She bristled; Eomer was at this very moment sulking in his chambers doing what she feared most--nothing. 

"The bridels and saddles can be replaced, Birra, but these geldings--I'm so very sorry," Eowyn could say little to comfort this woman. Her family needed those horses to transport the baskets of produce to market every week's end, to train their sons for battle, to transport them on journeys to friends' houses--they needed those horses for more than Eowyn could compensate. 

She left the row of cottages with a sinking heart. The stench of those dead horses permiated the land for acres and reminded her ceaselessly of the dilemma she faced. Eomer was King now and she had given up her claim to ruling Rohan when she married Faramir. She loved the Steward of Gondor, but seeing her home in disrepair and her people suffering--that forced her to challenge her decision. What could possibly keep Eomer so ignorant of the Rohirrim and their plight--had he honestly misjudged the seriousness of the drought? 

Her long fingers curled around her cloak as it whipped about her in the building wind. She approached the strong mare at the top of the hill and spoke to it softly as she mounted. Eowyn road a horse properly, ignoring her skirts and the stupid social expectations about riding side-saddle. No woman of Rohan would conform to such ridiculous ideas. To strengthen that claim, a sword hung at her side and she wore short pants of soft leather under her gown. Her shoes were sturdy, nothing like the fancy slippers worn by the ladies of Minas Tirith. The ladies who tittered whenever she passed them in the corridors... 

To hell with them, she thought, she was a shield-maiden of Rohan and had no need to fulfill their expectations. How they had squirmed when Faramir announced their engagement publically. A foreign woman claiming the most sought-after man in Gondor. It seemed all the powerful men of that land preferred strangers to their boarders. Aragorn wedding that Elf and his Steward taking a Rohirrim as his bride--she wondered if the Gondorian women had lost all hope of marrying well from that double dose of bad luck. 

As she broke over the ridge that hid Edoras from her view, she felt an odd chill envelop her. It was not the wind, for the breeze had died down moments earlier, this was cold panic squeezing her heart. Eowyn's fair face contorted at the strange feeling, her hand pawing at her chest. Where had this pain risen from? And just as quickly as it had seized her, the ache left her body and floated off to torment another victim. As she relaxed back into her seat, released from cold fear, she spied a silvery glow growing on the horizon. 

For a moment, Eowyn mistook the shimmer for an enormous gem, but soon the phenomena split in two, taking on the distinct shape of separate figures. The memory of that biting chill in her chest provoked her to ride hard to meet them, some alien motivation taking root. As she road closer, the warming spring air throwing her golden hair over her shoulders, she vaguely recognized the riders as two women. 

Two women adorned in silver? No Rohirrim she knew of chose that particular color, especially not within the peasant class. This propelled her curiosity further, and as her heels dug into the flanks of her horse, she wondered what business these strangers had within her lands. No, her brother's lands--her home. 

"Hail strangers to Rohan!" Eowyn called out when they were within her sight. Tall, blonde, at ease on their horses--they could have been Rohirrim but for the purity of their skin, the starry light that flickered off of their garments and the jewels set in their hair. Eowyn's mouth twisted into a scowl: Elves.   
  


"Heri ruve," Linelei murmured to Narcirya silently as the woman approached. Her friend nodded gravely while her eyes began to shine with forced welcome. Narcirya looked straight ahead, bringing her silvery gray steed to a stop at the crest of the hill. The blonde rider was nearing, calling out to them in the common tongue. Narcirya knew no address appropriate for this occasion. 

"Aaye, wende," she greeted as the female rider slowed her horse before them. "Greetings, horse maiden, you ride with great speed to meet us," Narcirya's voice was even and calm, her chin high as she examined the mortal. Eowyn fumed under such scrutiny. 

"I am Eowyn daughter of Eomund, Shield-Maiden to Rohan, sister to her King, Eomer," she announced, reigning her horse expertly so that it stood centered in front of the other riders. 

Linelei watched as Narcirya effortlessly ignored the mention of their purpose. Instead, the Elf nodded her head gracefully, "We come peacefully, with intentions of visiting your King, he stayed within our lands briefly last spring." She kept any fringe information hidden, instead watching the human with cautious, alert eyes. 

Eowyn listened, motionless, and looked between the two travellers quickly, "You have arrived at a time when the King can be spared least. His people suffer the burden of a dry spring and King Eomer cannot spend a moment dallying needlessly." The Rohirrim backed her strong words with an even more confident posture. 

"Truly, and yet hospitality decrees that he at least meet with us, for we have ridden long and far and do not seek to be repaid for the kindness given to him in Lorien. That debt shall be forgotten if we are allowed an audience with the King," Narcirya's reply came devoid of emotion, almost mechanical. Linelei could not conceal her smile, admiring the strength and diplomacy of her companion. 

Eowyn was caught by this trap, unable to ignore the mention of hospitality. She would be damned before any Elf could report that the Rohirrim were barbarians without the slightest understanding of politeness. Bringing her horse to attention, Eowyn maneuvered so that she could ride directly towards the gates of Edoras. 

"You will follow me to the royal stables--" 

But before any reply could be made by the Elves, a midnight black mare was bearing down upon them. The rider arrived in a thundercloud of dust, his steed braying ominously as it reared a few meters from Eowyn. Its heavy hooves shook the ground as it regained normal stance. The rider threw back his cowl and the noble face of Lord Faramir was revealed. Eowyn's hand eased on the hilt of her sword at the sight of her husband, but no smile or sign of welcome appeared. 

Faramir did not notice, however, for his eyes were trained on the two Elves. The one closest to him had nocked an arrow and aimed it at his heart within the space of a blink. Her pale gray eyes were fixed on him, unwavering as she kept the arrow points at his chest. A man of great intelligence and perception, it took little or no time for him to recognize the Elf of Eomer's recollection. Her posture suggested great dignity and weight, a stance one could only adopt if they felt powerful within a country. And the speed of her movements--swifter than any human's. Not only that, but her beauty was blinding, and being a man after Eomer's heart, he knew true depth of being when he saw it. He guessed immediately the nature of their visit, but he said nothing to Eowyn of it. 

"These travellers are to stable their horses and report to my chambers without interruption," Faramir announced dryly. Eowyn's gaze was harsh, unforgiving as she looked at her husband. Her indignity at being over-ruled in her own land was obvious, yet she did not rebuke his orders. Instead, she eased her horse into a steady trot and followed behind Faramir as they made for the Golden Hall and Edoras. 


	5. Plots and Ploys

  
  
Chapter 5--IN which: Awkward first meetings and secrets revealed.   
  
Author: Sabine Hawks   
  
Disclaimer: Yup, same as Chapter One! :) Still don't reproduce without my permission! BIG thanks to Lorelei for proofing, etc, you're the best!   
  
Feedback: It would be fabulous, as always!   
  


"You are Narcirya, from the lands of Lady Galadriel," Faramir announced as the doors to his quarters shut behind them. Eowyn stared at him; how had he known that? Despite her surprise, Narcirya merely bowed her head respectfully and watched the Steward place himself in a rustic chair near an enormous fireplace. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for the correct time to speak. Faramir's gaze upon her was unwavering. 

"Why have you come to this house?" 

"I seek audience with King Eomer," Narcirya matched his eyes, though the spasm in her cheek when saying that name--it alerted Faramir to greater things. 

"There is a feast in one week's time, until then you shall not tread in the King's sight," Faramir told her, watching for the tell-tale signs of disappointment. Narcirya remained nonplussed. 

"What is the reason for this delay?" 

The man was on his feet and within an inch of her face before she could protest. She glared at him angrily, violated by his imprudence. She did not, however, step back. Faramir sneered. 

"You know my reasons, Elf. Can you deny that King Eomer was more than just a visitor within your wood? I know the story which you would not dare to tell and as a friend and advisor to the King I will not allow potential threats near him. Whatever your motivations are they will come to light in time and I will be there when they do. Know this, Elf, that the torture you have put that man through will not go unchecked by me," Faramir's voice, though low, was heard by all within the room. Eowyn stepped forward compulsively, one hand at her throat as she gaped at the two of them. Linelei stalked the corner of the room, watching with distaste as her friend was berated. 

"You know very little indeed if that is how you perceive this so-called torture," Narcirya replied without malice, her eyes wonderig to Eowyn, "for one who is truly in love can easily spot another struggling within its net." 

Faramir calculated his response carefully. This Elf was a greater challenge than he had expected--though he had not expected her at all. So far, she had surprised him with her attitude and her ability to tiptoe around his verbal traps. He was beginning to understand exactly how profound the bond between King Eomer and her was. He snorted quietly, backing away as he too looked at his wife. 

"I am not accountable for the veils you creatures weave over your emotions," Faramir answered her quietly. Eowyn was frozen, watching with growing trepidation. "There are guest lodgings in the the western part of Edoras, I will take you there directly. You will wait for my word before going anywhere." Faramir's directions left no room for argument and Narcirya nodded solemnly, leaving the room with Linelei just behind Faramir's man. 

"What is going on?" Eowyn asked as the door closed. She could not process the information that she had gathered from Eomer's speech. How had he known this woman? Why was such caution being taken before presenting them to the King? And several mentions of love--how could any of this have transpired without her knowing? 

"That Elf is the reason Eomer has been hiding away in his quarters for the last twelve months," Faramir explained curtly, pacing back and forth before the hearth. Eowyn's brow furrowed, her hands falling to her sides, "What do you mean? Why did Eomer not tell me about her..." 

"Is it really such a mystery, Eowyn? How would you have reacted to such information? Eomer wanting to marry an Elf, would that have pleased you? He knows his sister well, better than you think," Faramir did not look her in the eyes for he feared the rage he would find there. 

"He chose Rohan over her--" 

"He chose solitude over social misgivings," Faramir corrected, stopping to rest his hand against the mantle. His wife came to him, touched his arm, searched his face, "What are we going to do?" 

"We are going to fix everything in one careful move."   
  
  
  


"My Lord we must help the peasants! Their horses are dying, their entire way of life crumbling--we cannot sit in this hall and wait for these troubles to right themselves! Where is your compassion? Where is the Lord of Rohan? Who now sits on the throne?" Eowyn was furious with her brother, now more than ever because she knew the source of his sloth. A woman, a lost love, was keeping him from his duties. He was failing his late uncle and she could not bear to watch. 

Eomer looked up from his slouched position on the throne of Rohan, "What would you have me do, sister? I have no magic cure for the brown grass and shrinking pools." The light in his eyes was fading, clinging hopelessly to an idea he could not forget. Eowyn sighed, frustrated with her brother and his blindness. 

"Then let them die, they cannot blame you, can they? You are the King, with more important matters, more important concerns," she hoped her words would stir him to action, but she had a feeling they would not. Eowyn left the Golden Hall in a flurry of flowing fabric and defeat. Eomer called after her but she ignored his cries, there was nothing left to say to him. Her horse waited below and as she descended the stairs to the main road she caught a glimmer in the corner of her eye. Lord Faramir would have alerted her to any movement the Elves were making--so why were they roaming free now? She road out of Edoras and across the hills with deliberate speed, surprised to find the two women speaking with a group of Rohirrim. 

Eowyn waited outside the ring of humans still atop her mount, listening carefully to the exchange. 

"This is the essence of the elanor flower mixed with sugar, the reason your animals are not eating the grass is because of how bitter it tastes. It may not give as much nourishment as green grasses, but at least it will keep them from starving," Linelei explained. The villagers looked at the flask in her hand suspiciously. Narcirya then took her own horse by the reigns and commanded her quietly in Elvish to eat. The animal sniffed the dying grass distastefully before shaking its head. She then sprinkled a tiny amount of the mixture on the ground and her steed gradually began to eat, eventually grazing steadily. 

"It will not harm the horse, it is healthier than sweet cubes," she went on to explain, patting her horse's nose fondly as it ate. Linelei held out a few flasks toward the villagers, who accepted them gratefully, small smiles growing on their faces. As the Rohirrim broke up to return to their homes, Eowyn dismounted and approached the Elves. 

"Does Lord Faramir know of this?" she asked with authority. 

"No, my Lady," Narcirya replied calmly. Eowyn looked between the Elves with a smirk she could not contain, "Flouting Lord Faramir's orders already?" She managed a small laugh, realizing that perhaps these women were not so very different from herself. As she was chewing over this revelation, a small figure pushed its way past her skirts to the Elves. The young girl gazed up at the immortal women in wonderment. 

"Are your ears really pointy like they say in the legends?" her voice was hewn with fear as she addressed them. Linelei and Narcirya exchanged a secret smile before the latter knelt down and pushed her hair behind her left ear. The child gasped with delight, her blue eyes growing wide. Narcirya took the girl's hand gently in hers and touched the human's fingers to the point of her ear. The child giggled happily, exploring the odd phenomena for herself. 

Narcirya reached inside the pouch belted at her side and withdrew a flattened yellow flower, crisp and dried. She held it out to the girl, saying, "This is an elanor flower from Lorien, it is sweet no matter how it is prepared--cooked or raw, distilled or crushed." She plucked a petal for herself and chewed it. The little Rohirrim did the same, making a small exclamation of glee to find that it truly did taste sweet. The Elf placed the remainder of the flower in the girl's hand, "A gift." 

The girl looked up at Eowyn excitedly before running off to join her mother and father. Narcirya raised herself back up to her full height, watching the tot scamper away. She looked into the distance, over the rocky valleys of Rohan, the sloping hills and the cottages that dotted the countryside--all of this belonged to Eomer. It seemed strange to her that a man she had thought no more than a boy looked after this land. Her eyes turned to Eowyn, sister to the man she loved. For a moment they shared a gaze that sparked understanding--comprehension despite their differences. Seeing Rohan hurting made Narcirya wonder if she had come too late--if this grasp for the past was unwanted, even shameful. 

"If you can change my brother's mind and make him realize he is indeed King of Rohan, then together we shall repair the damage that has been done. And that damage is no one's fault," Eowyn knew that there was only one way to sway her brother. His feelings for this woman were not only strong but justified, for she saw that same strength in her as she felt within. 

"Come," Eowyn extended her hand, "there are preparations to be made for this feast." 


	6. The Flames of Desire

The bitter clank of steel against steel echoed about the rough-hewn stones. The sun was setting over Rohan, the gold of the fading light streaking high up into the sky, a last desperate lunge for the day. Eomer ignored the brilliant sunset, he ignored everything but the satisfying ripple that vibrated through his body with every thrust of his sword. He was always met with an answering blow, his friendly foe grunting and sweating as he did in the dying light. 

"You are weaker than I remember!" Arrick taunted breathlessly, shouldering another of Eomer's hard swings. His brow creased with the exertion, perspiration gathering at the base of his neck and dripping down his back. The two men were the last in the training plaza, releasing pent up energy before being called to sleep. Eomer could think of nothing better to keep his mind off of his current problems--Arrick did not care that he was King, he only cared for Eomer's health, mental and otherwise. 

"I do not have as much time as I once did..." Eomer replied, dodging a sloppy swing, "...for humiliating you in front of the other men." They both laughed despite their exhaustion. The King's deep hazel eyes flashed with every swift movement, his blonde hair wet with sweat and falling out of its leather binding. He landed a particularly hard blow to his friend's shield, causing Arrick to tumble forward into Eomer. The King barked with laughter, slapping his friend's bare back good naturedly. 

"Weak indeed," Eomer teased, pushing Arrick back and smiling crookedly. Arrick shrugged, sheathing his sword while clasping hands with his friend, "Not all of us can keep up our strength as you do, no table is laid so finely." 

Eomer's smile diminished with those words, "You cut me." He withdrew his hand from Arrick, turning his eyes to the ground where their muttled footprints lingered. The other Rohir sought justification, noting his friend's shift in mood, "I care more that my child eats, I will survive but he is still young--" 

"Your point is made," Eomer interrupted darkly, throwing his shield into the sand. His eyes darkened with rage and hurt, they bit into Arrick's face, "This match is over." A servant scurried into the ring and picked up the weapons Eomer had discarded, keeping his distance after feeling the palpable anger radiating from the King. Arrick snorted, expecting Eomer to respond in his usual prideful manner. The King left, muttering to himself as he did. 

After a long soak, Eomer was feeling much relieved. He walked the polished floors of his study, idly glancing over messages that had been delivered that day. Yet another reminder from Faramir about the feast. Eomer smirked, it was very like Faramir to be excited about food and wine and dancing. Lately, the King had no stomach for such things, preferring the quiet solitude of his quarters. 

He had dismissed the servants, picked at his food and now felt compelled to lie down. The fight with Arrick had tired him physically and made his head swell; the Rohir would not abide his flaws as a leader for much longer. Never before had he doubted his abilities so seriously. Soon, he felt the seductive smoke of sleep creep over him, lulling him away from the dark problems that shadowed him constantly. It was comforting to drift into his unconscience mind, to spend time with memories that did not ask anything of him, that did not demand his attention or require his permission. And indeed, they defied his wishes, showing him the face of a memory he had long desired freedom from. 

Eomer was suddenly quite aware of a melody tickling his ear. He tossed among the furs and quilts on his bed, covering his eyes and pressing his legs to his chest. But his subconscience welcomed the invasion, inviting it into his brain with enthusiastic, open arms. Eomer smiled despite the rush of sudden pain that accompanied the tune. It was milky, lingering between words, hesitating on the finer sounds, as if aware of the beauty in those minor, discordant notes...   


_Aran a Bereth erthad noss  
Tâd gwaloth ned i mith  
I ardhon dâr na romru  
A derir nuin i lith_

The being whose dusky, rich voice floated down to him forced tears from his eyes. He rose without permitting his legs to carry him, but the window and its billowing, smooth curtains insisted. The night had covered the rolling hills of Rohan with a blanket of inky snow. The pointed tops of the houses all directed his attention to the silvery orb in the sky and the millions of sparkling minions surrounding it. The song had paused and Eomer's chest clenched, aching with need to hear that voice again, to be enveloped in its consuming embrace.   


_I medui a i niben  
Gerin i peng far taer  
In annar coll agarwaen cîn  
Hen lhûn síla ah glaer_

Eomer could not stop the tears, nor the crushing feeling of freedom that coincided with the phrases. The song rose and fell with his breathing, climbing into the starlight with each heart-breaking word. It brought him to his knees. No one in Rohan could sing like that--not the Master Bards, not the grieving mothers--it was an immortal voice, an eternal voice. For a moment, Eomer could only hope that his impossible wish had come true, that by some stroke of luck she had returned to him--but his understanding of this revelation was cut short by furious pounding on his door. 

"Come," his voice was shaking with emotion and hardly rose above the commotion. The oak barriers were thrown open and the wild eyes of Faramir met his own, "My lord, you must come quickly: Rohan is burning."  


* * *

  
Eowyn and his chief counselors were already on the crest of the hill when Eomer arrived. Faramir was close behind but unable to match the neck-breaking speed of Eomer's horse. The sight found there was beyond his comprehension; a row of houses was consumed in climbing flames. The drought had made stopping the fire nearly impossible, the dry timbers and hay of the barns feeding the conflaguration fervently. Eowyn's pale skin was alight with the licking flames as she turned to look at her brother. 

Eomer's eyes searched the disaster quickly, taking in the fire with his lips set in a grim line. He motioned to those with him, dismounting his horse as he began to run toward the houses. "Come with me, the roofs are too close together!" Faramir and Eowyn exchanged a look, shrugging as they too swung to the ground and followed after the King. 

Rohir were fleeing in every direction, grabbing children, animals, food, jewelry, anything they could salvage from the flames. Eomer kept his eyes trained on the house nearest to the next row of cottages, noting the dangerous lack of distance between its roof and the next. Upon reaching that last house, it too exploded into flames, its western walls crackling as they burned. The King took up an ax from the block nearby, swinging into the remaining eastern walls. 

"My lord! What are you doing?" Faramir called to him over the popping and spitting. 

"The walls! We must collapse the walls!" Eomer cried back, swinging furiously at the posts with the ax. Faramir disappeared for a moment before returning with another, he too began to hack away at the house. Eowyn and the advisors stood nearby, shoving the loose boards and logs back into the house to keep the fire contained. A high-pitched scream interrupted their work. 

"What was that?" but Eomer knew precisely what it was. 

"A child! There is a child within!" Eowyn shouted, wiping soot and sweat from her forehead. She moved to press inside and rescue the child but Faramir intercepted, "No, Eowyn, it is too dangerous, the house is going to fall..." She struggled within his grasp, reaching for the posts to pull herself away. Faramir was too strong, too adament in his wishes. Eomer paused in between strokes, eyes turning to slits as he squinted past the timbers--where was the child? The screams had turned to faint whimpers, hardly audible above the roar of the fire. The house was now swirling with flames on the western side, and those fighting to collapse it knew that there was nothing to be done. 

Eomer raised his ax to take another swing and felt his body clench with paralysis. A face appeared among the dancing flames, her silver skin free of ash and blackness, her cool, reassuring eyes mesmorizing as she stared back at him. Her hair, indistinguishable among the yellow flames, framed the calm expression that she gave him. As quickly as she had come she blinked out of his view. Eomer stared at that spot long after, unable to tear his eyes from it and the horrible apparition. What could it mean? Was she in trouble? A loud cry went up from Faramir as the walls began to shake and crumble. Eomer was tempted to rush inside, to be certain that he was not condemning his love to a fiery death but Faramir's hand stayed him. The child's screams had vanished into the clamoring flames. 

* * *

  



	7. Voices of the Past

Linelei shivered as she looked up at the sky; smoke still unrolled from the houses, charred and crippled to no more than smoldering cinders. They were far away from that now, in a pasture fenced with fragrant wood, where horses watched curiously as their owners ran to and fro, frantically trying to calm their neighboors. The Rohir that had lost their homes had come to these obscure farms that flame and terror had not touched. Looking over her shoulder, Linelei looked at her friend--she moved so easily, so naturally amongst these people. It put a warm feeling in her chest to see Narcirya engaged in something that suited her; tending to the child she had rescued from the village she almost looked like part of Rohan. Only her pale skin and pointed ears gave her away. 

The young girl was no longer crying, her hair braided back from her face by keen Elven hands and decorated with yellow flowers. Narcirya had been singing to the child for an hour now, ignoring the rasp that was creeping into her voice. The smoke had nearly choked the youngster and taken her life, but Narcirya's conscience had forced her into the house without thinking and there, against her will, she had seen Eomer. She had felt her heart shatter within her breast at the sight of him, beautiful and frightened as he beheld her through the flames. Narcirya had seen the doubt in his eyes, felt his apprehension--he wouldn't believe what he had seen. Faramir and Eowyn could counsel him away from those feelings, convince him that he was merely tired or sick from the smoke. 

"Why did you come here?" the young girl asked suddenly. Narcirya looked down at her, her silver eyes shining in the light of the stars. She touched the girl's cheek gently, "I came to speak with your king." Fighting back sadness, she forced a cheerful tone of voice. The Rohir was not satisfied with that, "And you can see him, as easy as that?" 

"I have traveled a long way, Ethera, and our people aided his riders when they passed through our home," Narcirya explained. Ethera's brow furrowed, her round face tipped up at the Elf. She paused a moment before saying, "Mama says that he is a bad king, that he is filled with grief for his uncle and will let us all starve." 

Narcirya blanched, forgetting the frank mannerisms of children. "I think your mama is mistaken," she replied softly, "It is not easy, being a king, and it is not easy to fix the problems that plague a kingdom. He is trying, Ethera, but he alone cannot fix the drout or make the crops grow..." 

Ethera nodded and yawned, lifting her small arms above her head. Narcirya laughed, the sound gentle and tinkling as it mixed with the breeze. "Here now, rest, you have had an eventful evening," she scooted further down the bench and Ethera pulled her legs up, lying down and placing her head in the Elf's lap. Narcirya began to sing again, quietly as to not disrupt her. Soon the little Rohir was fast asleep, breathing evenly. Linelei came to stand by Narcirya and watched her friend chant and play with the girl's hair. Their blonde heads were slightly bowed, for anguish sat upon the Mark that night. Ethera's older sister appeared from the back door of the cottage and joined them near the bench. 

"Five have died in the fires, our uncle included," she reported. 

"May the Valar bless them on their journey home," Narcirya said seriously as she stopped singing. Linelei looked at the teenage girl and felt how deep the girl's sadness ran, how hopeless her energy seemed. "We shall sing a lament for their loss," Linelei ensured, taking the girl's hand and squeezing it. 

"Thank you," Alena said, "If not for your help, Ethera might have been the sixth." 

"But she is not, and for that you should be joyful," Narcirya told her evenly, "there are others with even greater losses and for them you must be strong." 

Eowyn, still lovely despite the ash on her face and gown, appeared in the door, watching Narcirya speak with Alena and cradle Ethera. She dared not interrupt their exchange, and looked on with great fascination as Narcirya gently lifted the young Rohir and replaced her on the bench before walking with Linelei to the edge of the pasture. Beyond the fence was a gorge that dipped down into a tiny rivulet before sloping back up into another field. It was a natural border and provided a beautiful view. Eowyn felt her breath catch as the Elves stood before the gorge, their moonlit hair streaming out behind them, their starry gowns dancing with the wind. The Shieldmaiden stepped out of the cottage and came to stand next to Alena, placing a firm hand on the girl's shoulder for support. Alena tried to smile but instead followed Eowyn's gaze to the two strangers in the field. 

No amount of strength could have saved them from the heart-rending sound that filled the air. The Elves had their hands at their sides, their faces lifted to the heavens, their mouthes wide open as they poured out their song. The duet was a series of swirling, climbing arias in keys that the Rohir had never heard. The pastures lining the gorge filled with men and women as they left their houses to hear the melody more clearly. The Elven ladies were shining as their skin absorbed the starlight that had finally cut through the smoke. How two women could project with such clear, eloquent sound was unknown to them. Their harmonies stung the Rohir and made the hairs on their necks rise and their spines shiver. Narcirya sang for those that had died, but more emotion came from that one glimpse of Eomer, from the light in his eyes. 

"What are they saying?" Alena asked Eowyn in a whisper, only now noticing the tears that were streaming down her face. 

"I know not," Eowyn replied, she too was crying noiselessly, "and yet I do--there can only be one meaning in such a song." 

* * *

  
Faramir was at his wit's end, Eomer would not listen to a word he said. Instead, the King flew about his room in a wild rage, throwing chairs and lanterns and anything else within his reach. His snarling, growling screams could be heard down in the courtyards of Meduseld and Faramir quickly ran to the window and slammed the boards shut. Turning, he found Eomer slumping into a chair, staring ahead with glazed eyes. 

"My lord, where are your senses!?" Faramir stomped over to him, clamping a rough hand on the King's shoulder to keep him from exploding again. Eomer hardly managed to blink, continuing to gaze ahead at the empty hearth. 

"I saw her, Faramir, she was there." 

"Impossible," Faramir replied, but he suddenly felt very nervous. 

"Nay, it is true, I saw her, in the flames--it was her face." 

Faramir could hardly contain his sigh of relief, "It was your mind, Eomer, only your mind. A man's heart can be cruel, and project images he does not wish to see." Eomer shrugged out of his grasp crossly, "Do not insult me. Before I left my chambers, I heard her voice, and then I saw her face--these are ill omens, Faramir, if I am a sane man." 

Faramir moved to face him, forcing Eomer to look him in the eye, "It is the poison of a lover's kiss, Eomer, nothing more. Perhaps the child's scream produced a feeling similar to one you have felt for the Elf, or you were choked with smoke, there are a thousand reasons why you might have seen her." His plan would not work if Eomer was expecting her, he needed the element of surprise. 

"Why do you say these things? Do you think I am deceiving myself?" Eomer was not angry, merely confused, terribly confused. 

"I think it is time you forgot her, Eomer, I know that sounds unreasonable, but perhaps this was a sign. You have seen her in the flames, now let her die, let her memory live in your heart and only her memory. This useless hope you cling to is destroying your reason, your ability to rule," Faramir saw the wary look in his friend's eyes. "Allow her to die, let your remembrance of her be a happy one and acknowledge the promise you made to her: never to see her again," this was a stretch, but he needed Eomer completely with him for the next few days. If Eomer's mind was somewhere else, restoring his effectiveness as a ruler would be impossible. 

Eomer sat very still for a moment, his eyes still fixed ahead as he pondered what his friend had said. He felt utterly defeated, knowing that his grief over Narcirya had led to the death of five of his people. Not directly, but in any case she was keeping him from doing his job, from protecting his people and leading them forward. Eowyn was right, he was ignoring his duty and covering his tracks with tradition--the King was only infallible until he stopped believing it. 

"You are right," he said slowly, "no more innocent people can die for my sadness. It is against my wishes and hers." Faramir saw him visibly wince as he pronounced these last words. He could see his friend's heart breaking, and it killed him to watch, only the knowledge that he would yet be with Narcirya kept him from stopping Eomer. "I am a changed man," Eomer continued softly, allowing the tears to come, they rolled down his cheek as he looked at Faramir pleadingly, "Hold me to this, Faramir, hold me to my duties as King. She is dead to me and where I failed with her I shall not fail with my people." 


End file.
